


If You Wanna Be My Lover

by f-ing-ruthless-baz (my_mad_fatuation)



Series: I'll Tell You [3]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Bisexual Simon Snow, Dating, M/M, POV Alternating, Roommates, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-17 23:05:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18108356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_mad_fatuation/pseuds/f-ing-ruthless-baz
Summary: Ignoring the fact I’ve spent the past couple months thinking that Baz pretty much loathed me, this is still kind of awkward because I’ve never been in this situation before. I don’t really know what the protocol is when you’re dating a boy—scratch that, I don’t know what the protocol is when you’redating your roommate.-----Now that Simon and Baz have some idea of how they truly feel about each other, they can give this wholedatingthing a try. Easy peasy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, part three of the _I'll Tell You_ series is here--but, me being me, the series has gotten longer, so this will not be the last instalment. Whether or not you take that as good news is up to you.
> 
> The story picks up very shortly after _What I Really, Really Want_ leaves off. Like half an hour later. And let's just pretend that the tone of this story isn't a drastic shift from previous ones in the series, or inconsistent between chapters, even though I took a huge break in the middle of writing this, so it definitely is. Shhh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this chapter is going up on March 14th, I'd like to dedicate it to Taylor Hanson, for his birthday. :P

**SIMON**

“So, what do we do now?” I ask as I draw my face slightly away from Baz’s after what must have been nearly a half hour of locking lips—and apologizing to each other for being too dense to have gotten to this point sooner, over and over.

“More of this,” he says, jutting his chin forward so he can reach my mouth again and give me another kiss. He’s sitting against the very edge of his bed, but it’s high enough that it only makes him slightly shorter than me—as opposed to the few inches taller that he usually is—while I’m standing in front of him, his knees to either side of me and his arms around my waist. “Just this. Forget eating and sleeping, we’ll just do this forever, okay?”

I laugh a little. “I just meant, like, does this mean we’re _dating_ now?”

He kisses me again. “No dating. Just kissing. Just this. Always.”

“For real, though, Baz,” I say, pushing against his shoulders in order to hold my head far enough back that he can’t reach me, though I’m still smiling. (I don’t think I’ve stopped smiling since Baz’s little _slip of the tongue_ earlier.)

“I think, technically, we’d have to go on an actual date in order to be _dating_ ,” he says pedantically.

My smile finally falters and I let my arms go a bit slack. “And you don’t want to…”

“I was kidding, Snow.” He hugs me in closer, but I turn my face a bit to one side when he tries to kiss me again. “Simon. Come on. Of course I want to go on a date with you.”

“Don’t force yourself,” I mutter.

“ _Simon_ …” he says impatiently, with a hint of amusement in his voice, before kissing me lightly on my cheek. And then my jaw. And then my neck.

 _Fuck, how does he do that?_ How does he make me just want to melt in his arms like that? It’s so not fair.

I try to hold out as long as I can—which isn’t long, apparently—before I turn my face back to him and catch his lips with mine again. It’s different now, though. It’s not a slow, deliberate kiss like before; it’s pushy and needy—and I’m pretty sure I made it that way. I’m like a fucking sports car: zero to sixty in under three seconds.

My hands wind up in his hair while his slide up and down my back, and I press myself against him, because personal space seems way too overrated at the moment. It feels like I’ve got electricity in my veins; it’s powering me up and I’m almost fully charged. But then he stops.

He pulls back and holds me out at arm’s length, pausing to catch his breath before he clears his throat. “So…” he says as he combs back his hair with one hand. “We should probably figure out what we want to do, right?”

I stare at him blankly for a moment. “Huh?”

“For our date,” he clarifies. “Is tomorrow night good for you?”

“Um, I guess…”

“Cool,” he says, smiling at me while still keeping physical distance between us. He then turns to look back over his shoulder towards the clock that he keeps above his desk. “Shit,” he adds with an apologetic grimace. “I was supposed to head out ten minutes ago.”

“Oh. Okay,” I reply as I back away uncertainly.

He stands upright and gives me another peck on the lips before whisking off towards his closet where he pulls out a shirt on a hanger and immediately lifts off the jumper and t-shirt he’s currently wearing. I look away quickly, as a reflex, because I’m not used to having the sort of relationship with him where I’m _allowed_ to look. Though I’m not even sure I have that right now, considering the way he so abruptly put an end to our make-out session just as we were getting revved up. (Well, I was getting revved up, at least.)

When I turn my head back to him, he’s buttoning the shirt—light grey with a tiny allover print that’s too far away for me to make out what it is—and checking himself out in the mirror. He tucks the shirt in a little, just at the front, and fusses with the fabric hanging out to make it lay the way he wants. I recognize this type of preening. I’ve seen him do it many times, whenever he has a— _hold on_.

“Are you going on a _date_ tonight?” I blurt out, watching him incredulously.

He looks over at me with an expression of mild confusion, like he’s not sure why I would ask him such a thing. “I’ve got plans to hang out with some friends; we’re going to get some food and maybe head to a club later,” he says. He looks back at his reflection, leaning in to inspect his face closely—probably checking to see if it’s obvious that he’d been crying and then making out for half an hour—before heading back over to me. “I’d invite you to come with me, but I don’t really think it’s your kind of thing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just thought you liked to sit in here on your computer or hang out in the common room with Bunce; you don’t really _go_ places. Especially with a bunch of people you’ve never met, right?”

I try to think of a rejoinder, but he’s absolutely right, so instead I just scowl and fold my arms.

He places a hand on my shoulder and gives me a slightly patronizing smile. “Do you _want_ to come with me?”

“No…”

“We’ll hang out tomorrow, just you and me, alright? Anywhere you like.”

“Yeah, I guess…”

He watches me quietly for a second as his expression grows a bit concerned. “Would you prefer if I stay tonight?”

 _Yes_. No. I don’t know.

“I have plans with Penny, anyway,” I tell him, which is more or less true, insofar as we have a standing appointment to eat together in the dining hall pretty much every night.

“Right,” he says, examining my face for a minute, like he’s trying to make sure that I’m telling him the truth. (I guess we both have a bit of a track record for not letting on how we really feel around each other, so I don’t blame him, but even I don’t know how I feel right now.) “Well, I’m probably going to be out pretty late,” he adds, “so you might not be up when I get back.”

I lower my gaze and focus on a random spot on his shirt—which I can now see is covered in a fine, dark grey arrowhead print—to try and avoid his scrutiny. “Okay,” I reply with a small shrug, to make it seem like I don’t really care either way.

“Okay.” He lets go of my shoulder and walks back towards his closet to put on his boots and jacket. He straightens everything out in front of the mirror and then turns to me again. “Text me if you… want to,” he says, growing quieter towards the end, as if he realizes half way through saying it that it seems weird.

It is weird, though. We don’t _text_ each other. Not for fun, anyway. Not because we _want_ to. Only when one of us— _Baz_ —needs to let the other— _me_ —know whether or not it’s an appropriate time to come back to the room. It’s literally the only reason we even have each other’s number. I’ve never actually considered the possibility of just texting him for the sake of texting him.

I give him a small nod, but I don’t know what to say now. I don’t know where to go from here.

Ignoring the fact I’ve spent the past couple months thinking that Baz pretty much loathed me, this is still kind of awkward because I’ve never been in this situation before. I don’t really know what the protocol is when you’re dating a boy—scratch that, I don’t know what the protocol is when you’re _dating your roommate_.

***

**BAZ**

I could tell that things were a bit awkward with Simon when I left for the evening. But I’m not really sure how this all works now; what’s the protocol for dating your roommate?

I’m tempted to ask my friends, but the ones out with me tonight are all woefully heterosexual, and I doubt any of them have ever faced a situation quite like this, either. Plus, I’ve spent a lot of time whingeing about Simon to them over the past several weeks, so they’ll probably think I’m out of my mind if I tell them I’ve started dating him. Maybe I am out of my mind.

Honestly, it feels weird to say it, even in my head. This morning I made Simon storm out of a coffee shop, and this afternoon I wound up making out with him until my face was sore. It’s all been a bit of a whirlwind, really, which is partially why I stopped things so suddenly back in our room. Contrary to popular belief—and past indiscretions—I like to take things a bit slower in a real relationship. I think. I mean, I’ve never had to test that theory until now.

The night I spent with Simon was a bit off-piste for me, actually, despite my penchant for casual hookups, because that’s not what I thought it was; not what I wanted it to be. I really should have tried to pace things a little better, I know, but I had so many weeks’ worth of pent up _desire for the forbidden_ that I just couldn’t keep it contained any longer. (If I call it “ _desire for the forbidden_ ,” does that make it sound romantic and sexy and less like I was just horned up?) (Besides, he started it.)

It’s probably good for me to be out with my friends tonight, anyway. To get some space to think, without Simon clouding my judgment with his face right there. Perhaps I should try not to think about him at all for a while…

Who am I kidding? It’s probably been less than half an hour since I left, but I can’t wait any longer to grab my mobile out of my pocket so I can text him, and—it seems there’s already a message from him. (I must have accidentally had my phone on Do Not Disturb mode since my lecture earlier, so I didn’t notice when he texted me eight minutes ago.)

 _“I want to,”_ the message reads.

I don’t even notice the stupid little smile on my face until one of my friends asks me why it’s there. “No reason,” I tell him, forcing the smile out and replacing it with a look of annoyance.

I wait for the conversation around me to pick up again before I look back at the text, and this time I definitely feel my smile creeping back as I respond; I have to bite the inside of my cheek to hold it in. _“You really, really want to?”_

_“I really really really wanna :P”_

_“Me too. :P”_

***

**SIMON**

I stare at the contents of my closet for several minutes as my mind runs completely blank. I don’t know how to do this. Date. Not like this, anyway. As an adult. _What the hell am I supposed to wear?_

This was much easier when I was seventeen and dating my first—and only—girlfriend, because most of our _dates_ were just us hanging out after school or on the weekend, and I could wear my regular old clothes. But this…

First of all, we’re going out for dinner. At a nice restaurant, I think. So it’s _for real_. And second, Baz always puts a ton of effort into his dating outfits—or, at least, it looks like a ton of effort to me. Maybe it’s just that he has nicer clothes than I do, in general. Shirts that seem relaxed, but smart. Jeans that look expensive, fitting him snug from his waist to his ankles without being too tight. And he knows how to put things together to look right. Baz has _pieces_ ; I have _clothes_.

I have boring t-shirts, and boring jumpers, and the cheapest jeans I could find at Primark. (Though apparently they hug my ass nicely, according to Baz, so…)

I can’t just stare into the depths of my closet all night, though, so I take a step out from behind the door and look over at Baz, who is already putting the finishing touches on his shirt tuck. “Um, Baz?” I say timidly, and he turns to face me. “What should I wear tonight?”

“Are you asking me to dress you, Snow?” he replies with a condescending quirk of his eyebrow.

“Uhh… Yes?”

He comes over to my closet and stands next to me as he takes a look inside. “Do you not have any _shirt_ shirts?”

“When have you ever seen me wear a _shirt_ shirt?”

“Fair point,” he says, and continues to scour the contents of the closet for something acceptable. He eventually pulls out a deep reddish-purple jumper and hands it to me. “This one. With your darkest jeans. And your cleanest shoes,” he tells me. “Also, you shouldn’t leave your knitwear on hangers. It stretches them.”

“Noted,” I reply flippantly as I yank the hanger out of the jumper’s neck opening, and he cringes before going back to his mirror to finish primping. I get dressed quickly—much quicker than Baz—so we’re ready to go around the same time.

“Shall we?” he says as he double-checks his pocket for his keys, the way he always does before he leaves the room.

“After you.” I open the door to let him exit first, and he hesitates for a moment before stepping out, but once he does he starts hightailing it down the hall.

I have to jog a bit to catch up to him—damn him and his long, powerful legs—but he barely acknowledges me when I fall in step beside him. In fact, he just shoves his hands in his pockets and speeds up a little more.

“Hey, Pitch, looks like you’ve got a shadow,” says one of the residents of our building as Baz and I make our way out.

Baz glances back at me briefly before lowering his head and ploughing on. I don’t quite understand what’s going on until I follow him around the corner at the end of the road and find him stopped there, waiting for me.

“What was with the cold shoulder back there?” I ask.

“I just thought it might seem weird if it looks like we’re walking together,” he explains. “At least right now, around our building, where everyone thinks we can’t stand each other.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess…”

“Plus, I didn’t want to, you know, _out_ you by holding your hand or something.”

“Right…” I say. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

He looks down at the ground, like he’s a bit embarrassed, with his hands still shoved in his pockets. “I’m sorry if I made you think that I—”

“It’s fine. I totally get it,” I tell him, smiling reassuringly. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

I start walking again, even though I’m not entirely sure how to get to the restaurant we’re going to, since I’ve never been before, so I have to wait for Baz to catch up this time and take the lead. He doesn’t try to hold my hand, even now that we’re further from campus, though. Is he just worried about me not wanting people to know we’re together, or is he worried about himself?

“So, um…” I begin as we settle into a reasonable walking pace, side by side. “Just so you know, I’m… okay with it.”

He glances over at me again. “Okay with what?”

“With people knowing about us.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I mean, unless you’re not—”

“No, it’s fine with me,” he says. “Did you tell Bunce, then?”

I shove my own hands in my pockets to keep them warm, since he still hasn’t tried to take one of them. “Not yet…”

He nods in understanding. “Well, you can if you want to,” he says, “but it’s alright if you don’t, also.”

“Okay.” I keep my eyes trained on the pavement ahead as we keep walking.

Figuring out how to tell Penny is going to be challenging—it’s the reason I didn’t tell her about it yesterday—since I don’t know how to say, _“You know how I always told you that I despise my roommate? Well, that was just because I wanted to snog him all the time, so that’s what I’m doing now. Snogging him all the time.”_ Definitely an awkward conversation-starter.

Maybe the problem isn’t that I don’t know the protocol for dating a _boy_ , or even my _roommate_ , then. There’s something else I need to figure out; how the fuck do I date my _ex-nemesis_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz and Simon go on a real coffee date, and Simon finally tells Penny about everything. Well, almost everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adding another chapter now BECAUSE I CAN. Just more nonsense, enjoy!

**BAZ**

My date with Simon last night was… interesting. Actually, it was incredibly nerve-racking. I don’t usually go on dates with people I intend to go out with again in the future, so it was all a bit new and tricky. (It’s a whole lot easier to be charming when you don’t give a fuck about keeping things going longterm.)

I wasn’t entirely sure how much to talk about personal matters without under- or over-sharing, considering it was our first official date. We mostly stuck to superficial topics, like favourite films and humorous anecdotes. I could tell Simon was also nervous, though, because he hardly ate anything—and by that I mean there was a tiny bit of food left on his plate, which is unheard of for him. (Not that I’ve ever watched him in the dining hall before… Of course not.)

Things were understandably awkward, but not terrible for a first date with my (up to this point) antagonistic roommate, though. The most awkward part of the evening was actually getting back to our room. Usually if I bring a guy back to my room with me, there’s only one thing on my mind—and although that _was_ on my mind, I also didn’t want to rush things this time. I want the next time we do _stuff_ , for it to really count. I want us both to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it’s… something.

We did end up watching a few episodes of _The Good Place_ on Netflix, though, curled up together on top of my bed, which was quite nice—but trying to decide what to watch was a whole lot of, “Whatever you want is fine,” from each of us, and it took ages to land on that one. (Though once Simon confessed he’d never seen it, I knew I had to remedy that right away.)

We also made plans for a second date, thankfully. A coffee date. This morning.

I only hope, as we walk back into the Steam & Sugar Café, that things don’t end as poorly as they did last time we were here…

After a brief disagreement about which of us is buying this time—Simon manages to wear me down, since he claims this was his idea and also I paid last night, but I still feel weird about it—he goes up to the counter to order while I head over and snag my favourite table by the window.

I see the way the same barista looks at him again, and it almost makes me wish I had stayed at the counter so I could not-so-subtly put my arm around him. But I know I’m just being ridiculous. He already told me he wasn’t interested in her, anyway. _Because he was interested in me_ , I have to remind myself. It’s still a bit unreal to me.

He’s grinning as he walks towards me once he’s placed our order, carrying a number sign to our table. Eight this time. (Let’s hope eight is luckier than thirteen.)

“What’s that look for?” I ask him with a smirk when he sits down across from me.

“What look?”

“You’re all… smiley.”

“I’m in a good mood, I guess,” he says, gazing out the window shyly.

I sit back in my seat, keeping my eyes fixed on him. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Neither can I.” He looks back at me and laughs. “It’s kind of weird being back here so soon, though…”

I know that he’s the one who suggested coming back here, but I’m worried he only did so because he knew it was my preferred place to get coffee. “Yeah, sorry, I—”

“It’s fine, I mean. Just… weird.”

“Right.” I try to think of something better to say, but before I manage to, I notice that our drinks are already heading towards us. The guy carrying them is the one who served us when we were here a couple days ago, of course. Just my luck.

There’s a look of recognition on his face as he approaches. “Do you two have this table reserved?” he jokes. “All right, let me guess. You’re probably the Black Forest Latte,”—he sets the larger of the two mugs in front of Simon—“and that would make you the Flat White.”

I offer a very small, very polite smile as he places my beverage in front of me, but I don’t fully meet his gaze this time. The last thing I want is for Simon to think I’m flirting again, so instead I sit forward and reach across the table to hold his hand, which causes him to look up at me like a confused puppy. For a second I think that I’ve made a huge mistake, but then he smiles again, and everything feels right.

“Um, thanks,” he says, glancing up at the server without letting go of my hand.

“No problem,” the server replies, though he sounds less cheerful than before. (Maybe I’m just imagining that.) “Just shout if you need anything else.”

I don’t bother watching as he walks away, because I’m too busy stroking the back of Simon’s hand with my thumb, enjoying the way his cheeks go slightly pink when he looks back at me.

“Hi…” he says quietly, letting his gaze drop to our joined hands with a shy smile.

“This is okay, right?” I ask, glancing down at our hands as well.

His smile broadens as he looks back up at me. “Yeah, it’s definitely okay.”

It’s such a devastatingly gorgeous smile, it should come with a warning. _Caution: Contents Hot_.

My mind involuntarily runs through a list of all the things I’d like to do to him right this second if we weren’t in public—such as counting all the moles on his neck by softly kissing each one in turn, ornipping at the skin of his bare chest as I slowly drag my lips down it, or finding out if I can elicit that erotically desperate-sounding moan of his if I take him in my mouth—and I quickly snap myself out of it.

It’s not exactly the kind of stuff I should be thinking about in a coffee shop at half-ten on a Sunday morning, I suppose. It’s better if I stay focused on the present moment, anyhow, because I want to appreciate the fact that, despite everything that’s happened, I’m on a _real_ coffee date with Simon Snow. He’s sitting here with me and I’m holding his hand; I’m living a charmed life.

We eventually let go, though, so we can drink and chat—this is a _date_ after all, not a staring contest—but I periodically brush my hand over his again whenever I get the chance, and he always smiles when I do. The conversation flows easier this time, too, probably because we already greased the wheels with last night’s date. The subject matter ranges from music to pizza toppings to families—I learn that he was adopted by a lesbian couple when he was eleven, so I feel retroactively silly for making such a big deal about my being gay when we first met, thinking he might have a problem with that. (Serves me right for not bothering to get to know him at all until now, I guess.)

Our mugs sit empty in front of us for a while before we finally decide to leave, and he takes hold of my hand again once we’re outside on the pavement. It’s the first time we’ve walked together hand in hand like this—the first time I’ve walked hand in hand with a boy I liked, ever—and a mix of happiness and fear swells inside of me.

“I think I’m a terrible boyfriend,” Simon blurts out as we turn a corner, stopping abruptly in his tracks but still holding onto my hand.

“What are you talking about?” I ask as I look back at him, bewildered by his words and their suddenness. (Especially since I’d been thinking the exact same thing about myself.)

“I just, I’ve never been good at, like, _boyfriend_ stuff, I guess,” he says. “I don’t know how to be romantic or anything, and I’m bad at hugging, and—”

“You think you’re bad at _hugging_?” I almost laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of that statement.

“Yeah.” He looks at me like I’m the one being ridiculous. “I’m too awkward and stiff, and it’s not pleasant for anyone involved.”

“We cuddled for nearly three hours last night, Simon,” I point out. “And you certainly weren’t stiff then.” It’s not until I see the sheepish expression flicker across his face that I realize my words could be taken to mean something else… but I just squeeze his hand and pretend I don’t notice.

“Well, that’s different,” he says, averting his gaze shyly. “Cuddling isn’t hugging.”

“They are but variations on a theme.” I give him a condescending smile when he looks back at me, and I tug on his arm to draw him a bit closer. “Come on.”

I quickly scan the surrounding area for potential rubbernecks nearby, and decide to drag Simon a little further down the street so we can duck into a passageway that leads to some flats behind the row of shops. He seems adorably confused for a moment until I tug again and pull him flush against my front to wrap my arms around him, and he melts into me almost instantly.

“See?” I say to him as I rub my hands up and down the back of his jacket and his arms find their way around my neck. “You’re a natural. That _terrible boyfriend_ thing is bullshit.”

“Um, so, does this mean…” he begins, twirling the hair at the back of my neck around his finger, “you want me to be your… boyfriend?”

The question gives me pause for a second because I thought the answer was a given. _Of course I do_.

“Is that… what you want?” I ask quietly.

He nods, assuaging my worries before they can creep in too much.

“So do I,” I say, unable to keep a smile off my face. It’s nice knowing we’re on the same page.

I can tell that he’s happy about it, too, because he lets out a small laugh of relief, and I rest my forehead against his as I hug him even closer, basking in his warmth. (It’s going to be especially nice, come winter, having a boyfriend who doubles as a portable space heater.)

“Good…” He tilts his head up towards me slightly, and I feel the air between our mouths get hot with our combined breath.

I angle my face to one side as if I’m going to kiss him, but then veer off the other way, bumping my nose into his, over and over, until he gets fed up with my teasing and grasps a handful of my hair to hold me still as he plants his lips on mine. The heat of his mouth is searing compared to the crisp autumn air, and I can’t get enough of it. I can’t get enough of him. (Honestly, I don’t even know if an entire lifetime spent snogging him would be enough to satiate my desire—but it would still be a lifetime well-spent, I’m sure.)

I need more of him _right now_ , though. The bulky layers of our jackets and everything between us are too much when all I want is to touch him again. Fortunately, the bomber jacket he’s wearing only goes down to the top of his hips, so it’s easy for me to slip one of my hands up underneath it and find the hem of his t-shirt under his jumper, lifting it enough for me to press my palm flush against his back.

He gasps a little when my cold hand comes in contact with his warm skin, but he quickly resumes kissing me, moaning pleasantly into my mouth. I know that I’m currently running the risk of sprouting more than just a semi—in a quiet but still _very public_ space, no less—but I don’t want to stop. Because if we stop, then we’ll just end up going back to our room. And if I’m back in our room, then I really ought to revise for tomorrow’s Sociology exam. Which is much less fun than this.

“Maybe we… should head back…” Simon eventually suggests, as he sneaks his hands down my chest and into the front of my open jacket to rub my stomach, though he barely parts his lips from mine. “To our place.”

 _Our place_. That makes it sound like we actually chose to live together, as opposed to just being roomed together by external forces—there’s a distinction. He could have said “our room,” but he didn’t. And I kind of love him for it.

( _Fuck_. I need to stop doing that.)

I manage to restrain myself enough to pull away from him, however, because as much as I’d greatly enjoy doing this forever, it’s impossible.

“I think I’d better just swing by to grab my coursework and take it to the library; I have a big exam tomorrow and I have tons more revision to do,” I tell him, caressing the side of his face with my hand in the hope that he won’t take this personally.

“Oh,” he says solemnly. He seems disappointed but not upset, though. “I probably need to read some stuff for my class tomorrow anyway, so…”

My eyes keep inadvertently darting to his kiss-swollen lips, and I have to remind myself that we’ll have plenty of time left in our lives for making out together; we don’t need to sacrifice our educations.

Besides, I wanted to take things a bit slower this time. It’ll be worth the wait.

Right?

***

**SIMON**

“Good _god_ , Simon,” Penny says when her eyes land on my hastily made bed—I’d just spread the duvet over everything minutes before she got here so it wouldn’t look quite so terrible for her first visit to my room. “Is that Spider-Man bedlinen?”

“Uh, yeah, well, I thought it was funny, so…” I reply with a nervous chuckle.

“I can see why you’ve never invited me in here before,” she says, giving me a playful nudge with her elbow before climbing up onto my bed and letting her legs dangle over the side. “Though I’m not entirely sure why you invited me now. If you were hoping to deflower me on your Spider-Man duvet, Simon Snow, I feel obligated to let you know, that ship has sailed.”

“You’re not funny, you know that?” I tell her as I take a seat next to her, even though I’m not doing a very good job stifling my laughter. “I just wanted a chance to talk to you privately, is all.”

Her expression grows serious. “Is this bad? Should I be worried?”

“No, no, nothing bad, I promise,” I say quickly. I’m not entirely sure how to tell her, though. “So, okay—Well—The thing is, it’s like—I just, um, I sort of—”

She places a hand on my shoulder reassuringly, instead of snapping at me to _“spit it out,”_ like most people do when I get like this. “It’s okay, Simon. Take your time,” she says, and I watch her nod her head up and down slowly, which helps to keep me from rushing my words too much.

“Okay. Um. Do you remember a couple weeks ago… when you asked me if Baz was doing okay?” I begin, much steadier this time. “You said he seemed upset when you ran into him, and I told you that he and I had gotten into an argument and weren’t speaking to each other anymore.”

“Of course,” she says. “And then I asked how it was any different than usual, since you were hardly speaking to each other anyway.”

“Right. Yes. Well. I sort of lied about that…” I clasp my hands together in my lap and start to crack my knuckles, which is a terrible nervous habit, I know. “I mean, we sort of weren’t speaking to each other—even more than we weren’t speaking to each other before—but it wasn’t because of an argument. We’d actually just sort of, um… slept together, I guess.”

She goes quiet for a moment, and when I glance sideways at her, I see that she’s staring at the far wall, deep in thought, until I gently kick her foot to get her to say something. “Like, you _fell asleep_ together, or…?” she asks, though it doesn’t sound like she thinks it’s any more plausible than the alternative.

“We, uh, we did fall asleep together, technically. In my bed. But we also… um… did some… _stuff_ , kind of. Yeah.”

“You had sex with him?” she asks, though I can’t tell if her tone is that of surprise, disapproval, or just need for clarification.

I lower my head sheepishly. “I dunno…”

“How can you not know? Were you drunk?”

“No, I mean, I don’t… know if that’s how to classify what happened, exactly…”

“Why? What happened?”

My cheeks, which I could feel had already started going pink during this conversation, are now heating to red-hot levels as I try to think of how to say this without having to actually say it. “We kind of just…” I mutter, and make a _jerking off_ motion with my hand in the air.

“Oh my god, no, Simon!” She quickly smacks my hand down to make me stop. “I just meant if he hurt you or something! _Jesus_. Why would I want to know _that_ part?”

I shrug because I have no idea, honestly, and I feel even more embarrassed now, if that’s possible.

She shakes her head, like she’s trying to clear an Etch-A-Sketch, to get rid of that information from her brain, probably so she can focus on the important bits. “So what happened after that?” she asks, but quickly adds, “And I don’t mean _immediately_ after! Just, like, in the days following. If I recall, you two were colder to each other than usual for a bit.”

I lean back on my hands and groan when I think about how stupid I’d been at the time. “So, I never told you this, Pen, but I’ve sort of had a thing for Baz for a while now…”

“Oh. Wow.” She doesn’t sound remotely surprised. (What did I expect, really? She’s clever.)

“Anyway… When it happened, I figured things couldn’t get any worse for me than they had been,” I explain. “Except I didn’t realize that the… stuff… would make me feel… _more_. I mean, I can pretty much pinpoint the exact moment that my feelings for him, like, tripled in size, instantly.”

“Oh? Was this an especially _climactic_ moment for you?”

“…Shut up.”

“Okay, well, that happens sometimes, you know. But it doesn’t really explain the increased iciness between you, does it?”

“That’s because I knew—or, I _thought_ I knew—it meant nothing to him. But I also thought that, if he knew I wanted something more, he would… feel bad about it, I guess.” I shake my head as I try to organise my thoughts more clearly. “I thought he—He showed a side of himself that made me think he might… care if I was hurt. So I… pretended I wasn’t. That it wasn’t a big deal to me, and I still couldn’t stand him.”

“Oh, I see…” She nods as she looks down at her feet, making them sway back and forth gently. “So why are you telling me all of this now? Did something else happen?”

“Um, well… Long story short… he’s my boyfriend now!” I say with an awkward laugh. (I hope she doesn’t ask for the full length version, though. At least not until I figure out how to tell it without sounding stupid.)

“I see…” she repeats, though her tone of voice worries me a little.

“Are—Are you angry that I didn’t tell you sooner?”

She turns her head to look me in the eye with her eyebrows arched, like she thinks I’m being ridiculous. “Of course not. I mean, I want you to know that you can tell me anything, but that doesn’t mean I feel like you owe me _everything_. Especially when it comes to something like this. I mean, you sort of just came out to me, Simon.”

 _Whoops_. I hadn’t thought about that—it wasn’t as if I’d been hiding that part of myself from her, though; it just never really seemed important until now. “Uh, should I have, like… made a bigger deal of that part, then?”

“Not if you didn’t want to. Clearly, I had my suspicions anyway. But, look,” she adds, leaning into my shoulder with hers, “I’m not upset that you didn’t tell me sooner, because you’re telling me now. And you’re telling me now because you’re ready. I hope. I just want to make sure you’re okay, because you’re one of my best mates, and I will literally kill anyone who causes you any harm.”

I look over and see her smiling sweetly, like she hadn’t just suggested she’d murder for me. “Thanks, Penny.”

“You know what this means, though, right?”

“No… What does it mean?”

“It means I need to meet him properly, to give my approval. Not as Basilton Pitch, your standoffish roommate, but as your boyfriend, _Bazzy_.”

“Oh my god, _don’t_.”

“Is that not what you call him when the two of you are alone?” she asks mockingly. “Or do you just call him _babe_? Or maybe _sweetheart_? How about _‘moon of my life’_?”

“ _Stop_.”

“No, wait, I know! _Stud-muffin_!”

“That’s it,” I say with a laugh as I reach over and grab my pillow so I can hit her with it. “You are officially cancelled.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz wants to study. Simon wants to get some. But can either of them get what they want?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter final chapter final chapter! (But not the end of the series, fear not.)

**BAZ**

_“We’re at steam n sugar do you want us to bring you anything?”_

I read the text from Simon a couple of times as I take a break from revising for yet another exam—Statistics this time; Sociology went well, though—but then it registers that he wrote _we_ and _us_ , and I get nervous. I knew he’d gone to hang out with Bunce for a while, but the way he says, _“do you want_ us _to bring you anything,”_ makes it sound like she’s coming back with him. Here.

Though I really don’t have any right to complain, considering how many times I’ve invited someone back to our room without asking if it was okay with him— _wow, I’m such a dick sometimes._

Before I manage to send a response, though, he adds, _“Too late we got you something :D”_

 _“That grin seems ominous,”_ I reply.

_“:D”_

I chuckle to myself a little as I set my mobile on my desk and try to concentrate on my revision again. I still have a lot of material to go over, so I hope if they are bringing me something that they just drop it off and leave again. There’s no way I’ll get much done with them here.

It feels as though less than a minute has gone by—although the clock says it’s been more like ten—when the door opens, and I look over to see Bunce walking in. It confuses me at first, to be sure, but I soon figure out that Simon must have given her his key so she could get the door while he carries a takeaway cup in each hand; she’s only carrying one, so she had a hand to spare.

“Basil,” she says nonchalantly as she walks in and leans against the side of my bed, like she owns the place, folding her arms across her chest while keeping her coffee upright.

“Bunce,” I say in response, trying to match her tone and indifference.

“Nice to see you again.”

“Always a pleasure.” I give her a challenging smirk. (It’s my specialty.)

She seems to be eyeing me warily, though—probably trying to determine if I’m good enough for the Golden Child, since I know he told her about us a few days ago. But I also know that she already wanted us to _befriend_ one another, anyway, so I’m obviously going to make the cut. I mean, I think I am. I hope I am.

For a moment, Simon—who’s standing smack dab in the middle of the room—just looks back and forth between the two of us like he’s afraid we’re about to throw down, the simpleton. This is what happens when both your best friend and your boyfriend are stubbornly protective of you, though. There’s bound to be some posturing, it’s inevitable.

“Um, so, I got you this,” he says, chuckling a little to ease the tension in the air, as he comes closer to hand me one of the cups he’s holding.

“Should I be afraid?” I ask with an eyebrow raised.

“No,” he replies, but I can see him holding back a mischievous smile and I hesitate before I take a sip.

“Oh,” I add once I’ve gotten a taste. “It’s a flat white.”

He breaks into a full grin and I feel compelled to grin back, because he almost had me going, and I must give credit where credit is due. But I shoot Bunce a quick sidelong glance, and she appears to be trying to hold back her amusement, as though she really wants to laugh at how ridiculous we are. I don’t blame her.

We all take a moment to sip at our beverages quietly, since I don’t think any of us knows what to do in this situation, but the look of contentment on Simon’s face as he savours his is too fucking adorable.

“What’d you get, then?” I ask him, because I need to know what makes him make that face… for research purposes…

“The Nutella one again,” he says, still smiling dopily as he takes another sip. He hums with satisfaction and looks back at me. “You wanna try some?”

The thought of loading espresso full of sugary flavour syrups holds no appeal to me—I’d rather eat my sweets than drink them—but he seems eager to give me a taste, so I let him swap our cups for a minute, since he says he’d like to try mine as well.

The sweetness hits me hard, I’ll admit, but it’s not entirely… unpleasant. The mocha flavour adds richness, and the hazelnut definitely gives it that Nutella-esque taste, but the espresso still comes through enough to offset everything and make it palatable. _Shit, is this stuff actually good?_

I almost don’t want to admit to Simon that I like it—these types of drinks are for cute people like him, not jaded sods like me—but he watched me drink it, so he must have seen the unfiltered reaction on my face, just like I see his when he tries my flat white. His nose scrunches up a bit and he sticks out his tongue, making me laugh so genuinely that I’m a bit embarrassed once I remember Bunce is still eyeing us.

“I suppose I can allow this,” she says, her words forcing the two of us out of our little bubble. But her stern expression of scrutiny softens into a smile as she waves her hand in our general direction. “This. I approve. But, be warned, Baz,”—her smile has a bit more of a sinister edge to it as she stares right at me—“I know how to dispose of a body…”

I let out a nervous chuckle at her joke—I _think_ it’s a joke—and tell her she’s got nothing to worry about. It’s nice that Simon has someone so vehemently on his side like that, though. (I wish I had someone on mine.)

“Good. Though, Simon,” she adds, turning her attention towards him specifically, “that warning goes for you as well. Just because you’re my friend doesn’t mean I’ll stand by and let you get away with being a jerk, got it?”

He looks more worried than I am, and I wonder if that’s because he knows she means it. “Uh, yes…?”

She smiles again, this time more self-satisfied than anything else, and takes another sip of her drink. “Okay, well, I have to get to class, but I’ll see you in the dining hall tonight. Both of you.”

“Um… Right. Yes. Of course, yeah.” Simon smiles back at her and walks her to the door as they exchange _see-you-laters,_ but I can tell he’s hiding something. Well, I mean, it _seems_ like he’s hiding something. I’m just not very good at figuring out what that might be, yet.

After she leaves, he comes over and leans against my bed, the way she had before, only this time he’s all the way at the end nearest me. I could easily reach out and touch his thigh from here. (I shouldn’t, though.)

He takes another sip from the cup in his hand and grimaces as soon as he realizes that it’s still mine, and immediately shoves it in my direction so I can take it away from him. We switch our cups back and I set mine on the desk next to my laptop, catching a glimpse of the time before looking back at Simon curiously.

“I thought you had a class in ten minutes?” I point out, though I hope I don’t sound too much like I’m trying to get rid of him. But I am, sort of. (How am I supposed to stay focused on revising when _I could easily reach out and touch his thigh from here_? Honestly.)

“Oh, well, it got cancelled today, so I’m… here,” he says, though he directs it more towards his Nutella-flavoured latte than to me. “Is… that going to be a problem?”

“No, no, I just… I have to…” I wave my hand in the direction of my laptop to get my point across, because I don’t think I have the strength to say in words that I’d rather do schoolwork than make out with Simon Snow for three hours. Because I absolutely would _not_ rather do schoolwork, it’s just that I’m not going to get course credit for feeling him up—although that would be quite a nice bonus, wouldn’t it?

“Oh, right, yes,” he says with a nod. “I, uh, I’ll just… read for a bit, I guess.” He stands straighter but doesn’t leave right away, like he’s hesitating on something.

Before I can ask, though, he bends down to meet my face and gives me a small peck on the lips, but I instinctively hold onto the back of his neck to keep him from pulling away immediately. I can’t have Simon’s lips that close and let them get away unscathed. I just can’t.

He has a bit of a dopey smile on his face when I finally let him go, and it occurs to me that this may not have been my smartest idea ever. I turn towards my desk as he heads to his side of the room, but my brain is miles away now, in SimonLand. Although I’m staring at the screen in front of me, my senses are all tuned into his every move as I try to envision his actions based on the sounds behind me—though I’m surprised when I hear him return to me shortly.

“D’you mind if I read on your bed?” he asks, holding up the book he must have picked up from his desk. “The light is better over here at this time of day.”

“Um, yeah—I mean, no, I don’t… mind,” I reply, though I know it definitely won’t help me if I can see him in my peripheral vision the whole time.

“Thanks.” He smiles and sets his coffee on my desk, next to the foot of the bed, and takes off his shoes and jacket—leaving them on the floor, of course—before hopping up onto the bed and making himself comfortable. Very comfortable, it seems.

He’s lounging on my bed with his head at the end closest to me, propped up on one elbow while reading his book, which is spread open on top of the duvet in front of him. Seeing him stretched out along the bed like this, though, just makes me think about when he was in my bed this morning. With me.

He hadn’t spent the night in my bed or anything—I don’t think I could have restrained myself enough if he had—but I was just waking up, still in bed, when he got back from his shower, and he used it as an excuse to invite himself to join me for a cuddle… that was quickly en route to becoming a rather erotic gropefest, if it hadn’t been for my snoozed alarm.

But I don’t have time to think about that now, what with my exam coming up, so I force myself to concentrate on revision for the next hour and a bit before I have to get to my afternoon class. I can do this.

_Focus, Basil._

 

**SIMON**

Did I make a huge mistake?

I mean, skipping this class today isn’t necessarily the best move on my part, especially since my grasp on Astronomy isn’t quite stellar— _ha!_ —but I feel like I stayed away from Baz as long as I could today. I was hoping he’d be done by now and I would get some time with him before his next class. (He’s smart, why does he even need to work this hard?)

It’s all his fault, anyway.

I had woken up this morning with the intention of going to my class in the afternoon, but when I got back to our room after my shower, he was just waking up… He had this adorably groggy look on his face, with his hair slightly mussed—so I absolutely had to kiss him right away; I had no choice, really. Clearly his fault.

Besides, he was the one who pulled me in closer, shifting in his bed to make room for me to join him. He was the one who used his expert-level kissing to get me primed for something more. He was the one whose pyjamas were so soft that I was compelled to keep touching them—over his arms, down his chest, around his back—until I had no choice but to try and remove them, because it wasn’t fair of him to feel so good to the touch, was it?

But, of course, he was also the one whose goddamn alarm went off before I could make any progress with that, and left me wanting for much, much more.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him all day. Okay, that’s not unusual for me, but my thoughts about him are typically rather varied—crossing a wide range, from wholesome to provocative—but today has had quite a singular focus: getting Baz back in bed.

It’s my current mission, actually, though I’m not entirely sure how to go about it. There’s no way he’s as hot and bothered as I am right now, engrossed in his studies like that, so I can’t just tell him to drop everything—especially his trousers—and get over here. I have to get him interested first. But how the hell do I do that?

Of the two of us, Baz is definitely the master of seduction, not me. I’m the master of fumbling around and _button-smashing_ , instead. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing here. I mean, I stupidly thought that stretching out on the bed like this would be more suggestive than sitting up against the wall—a better position for reading, frankly—and somehow it would make him want to join me. But he merely glances up at me for a moment before returning his focus to his computer.

Yeah, I might have made a huge mistake.

What are my options, though? I can tell him I lied about my class being cancelled and leave, but that doesn’t get me what I want. I can try the direct approach, but he might laugh at me for being so much more eager than he is. (Laugh affectionately, I’m sure, but laughing still isn’t what I want.) No, I need to make him think it’s his idea; but I’m going to have to be more proactive, here…

I try to make as big a production as I can about sitting up to take off my jumper—it’s too warm for it in here, anyway—just to get his attention. But I don’t think I manage to make it very sexy, considering my head gets stuck in the neck opening for a second, and it pulls my t-shirt halfway off with it, so I have to tug it back down while it keeps clinging.

_Smooth, Simon._

 

**BAZ**

My attention is immediately drawn to Simon as soon as I detect movement in my peripheral vision. He’s taking off his jumper—rather clumsily—and I can’t stop sneaking glances at him when his t-shirt starts to come off with it. He pulls it back down, unfortunately, but he notices me watching after he tosses his jumper to the floor and smiles sheepishly.

I inadvertently allow my eyes to drift down to the spot where his t-shirt has remained lifted a little, revealing a small patch of exposed skin that makes me feel like a Victorian-era gentleman catching a glimpse of a woman’s ankle. You’d think I’ve never seen him fully naked, the way my heart starts racing—though maybe that’s exactly why. I know what’s underneath, and I can’t have it now.

He glances down at his own shirt, like he’s curious what could cause me to stare like that, and I realize I’ve been ogling him for far too long, so I quickly turn back to my notes on the screen in front of me.

What am I even looking at here? What is this nonsense? These are just… words. And numbers. And… not Simon.

 

**SIMON**

So close.

He was definitely looking. I bet if I’d actually let my t-shirt come off, he’d have seriously considered it. But I can’t exactly justify taking it off now, can I? _“Oh, you know how it is, Baz. It’s just so much easier to get in the mindset for reading Shakespeare without a shirt on_. _Or trousers.”_

Honestly, how does he do it? How does he just sit there, running his hand through his hair while he stares at his laptop intently, and make it look so good? He’s not doing anything particularly _sexy_ , really. Except he is. He always is. He just exudes it at all times; it’s no wonder guys like me are constantly falling at his feet.

He knows exactly what to do and what to say to make me feel weak, in the best possible way. He has the looks and the smarts and the charm, and what do I have?

 _I’m his boyfriend,_ I have to remind myself. He clearly likes _something_ about me. But I have no idea how to exploit that if I don’t even know what it is.

I’m not good with words, like he is. All he has to say to me is, _“I want to know where your weak spots are and how to make you fall apart,”_ and then I do, apparently. So where are his weak spots?

I probably need to take a page out of his book and tell him what I want. What I really, really want. But I’m not sure if I can.

 

**BAZ**

I don’t know what he’s doing right now. Either he’s really struggling to understand Shakespeare—which is possible—or he’s just been staring at his book without reading it, since I haven’t notice him turn the page even once, for several minutes. How do I know that? Because I’ve not been reading, either. I’ve just been painfully aware of everything he does out of the corner of my eye.

He sits up again, though I force myself not to look. Until he speaks, that is.

“Baz?” he says, and I can’t help but turn my full attention back to him.

“Yes?” I reply calmly, even though I feel I’m on the verge of screaming, pulling my hair out, or snogging the life out of him—I can’t tell which.

“Can I tell you something?” He chews on his lower lip nervously and I worry that it’s going to be something bad.

“Of course, anything,” I say, but I can think of several things I wish he wouldn’t.

“Can you, um, come here for a second?” he adds, sitting up more fully and tucking his knees up in front of him.

I take a glance at my laptop briefly, but I know that there’s no way I’m getting any work done with him sitting here anyway, so I say, “Sure,” and get up to join him.

He pulls me by the arm into the space next to him, against the wall, and nestles his head against my shoulder, allaying some of my fear of what he might he about to say.

I press my face into his hair and kiss the top of his head. “What do you want to tell me?” I ask, squeezing his hand when he interlaces his fingers with mine.

 

**SIMON**

_Fuck_. Words. I need words.

But he’s… here. He’s right here, where I want him. I need to tell him.

“I, um…” I lift my head, but I lose my nerve as soon as his eyes meet mine. _Fucking words._

 

**BAZ**

When he lifts his head to speak, he barely gets a single word out before he stops again, like he’s lost his nerve. What could he possibly tell me that’s so hard to say? It can’t be good, can it?

“What is it?” I whisper; Simon’s face is so close now, I don’t need to speak at full volume.

I’m a terrible person, though. He probably has something serious he wants to talk about, and I’m just mesmerized by his mouth, hanging open like always. I could kiss him. I shouldn’t though. But I want to. I really, really want to.

I actually think I’m almost going to break down and do it, but then _he_ kisses _me_ instead.

 

**SIMON**

_Fuck words_ , indeed. This is better than talking, at least right now. It’s easier, anyway.

I may not be a wizard at this sort of thing, the way that Baz is, but I’ve learned a bit more about how he likes this, over the past few days. I know what to do with my tongue to get him to pull at my mouth with his more intensely. I know how to suck on his bottom lip enough to make him start to whine, desperate for more. I know where to kiss him, near the base of his neck, so that he grips the back of my head tighter, like he never wants me to stop.

I know how to do all these things. So I do.

 

**BAZ**

He’s kissing me… on my neck… right in that spot… and it’s so good…

It’s so good that I don’t even care how he’s stretching out the opening of my t-shirt to get to it—he could tear the shirt right off and I probably wouldn’t care right now.

I never want him to stop.

 

**SIMON**

I trail soft kisses back up his neck and catch his lips with mine again, as I start to push his cardigan off his shoulders. He lets go of me long enough to pull it off completely, and tosses it onto the floor with a smirk, like he’s mocking me for my slovenly habits by copying them.

“Shut up,” I laugh as I push him down onto his back.

 

**BAZ**

He holds himself above me on all fours, gazing down at me fondly—almost like he thinks he’s lucky to have me—until reach up for his mouth, because I can’t not. Not when he’s right there, and he’s mine to kiss. All mine. I’m the lucky one, doesn’t he get that?

When he pushes me back down, he makes his way along my jaw and neck again, but he doesn’t stop there. He keeps moving downward, pressing his mouth against my chest, over my t-shirt, and I can feel the heat of his breath through the fabric. It’s like he’s teasing me, taunting me, with that layer between us, but I don’t know that I could stand it without.

 

**SIMON**

His hand clenches in my hair as I continue down his chest, and I start to draw the bottom edge of his t-shirt up his stomach—I probably should have removed it beforehand, but I’ve never been good at planning ahead. It’s not as if I have any idea what I’m doing, after all. I just figure, if he likes it when I touch his chest with my hands, maybe he’ll like if I do it with my mouth, too, but my thought process ends there.

I’ve lifted his t-shirt high enough that the next time I place a kiss on him it’s on bare skin, and he lets out a whimpering sound, like he’d been holding it in for a while. My lips curl into a bit of a smile as they reach his abdomen, and I kiss him here the same as I would on his neck.

 

**BAZ**

_Holy fuck_ , he’s using his tongue. (Really well, I might add.)

The way I’m trembling right now, you’d think I’d never had a guy go down on me before— _shit_ , that’s not what he’s about to… Is he?

He wouldn’t. Not Simon. _My Simon_.

Not Simon _“How Does This Work?”_ Snow, who is currently licking my stomach, and heading south. But he wouldn’t, not yet. We haven’t even discussed… anything.

I wish I knew what he was thinking.

 

**SIMON**

I don’t know what I’m thinking.

I don’t even know what I’m doing, or if I’m doing it right. I think he likes it, though. I like it, too.

I wonder if he wants me to… keep going. I definitely would. I would do anything for him. But…

How many people have done this with him? How many people, who actually know what they’re doing? How many competitors?

It’s ridiculous to think of it that way—I know we’re more than that. The others who’ve come and gone didn’t get to have him the way that I do.

At least I think they didn’t…

 _Shit_.

 

**BAZ**

I’m simultaneously disappointed and relieved when he stops suddenly, but as he moves aside to sit against the wall again, I grow concerned. Did he think I was pushing him? Should I have stopped it sooner? Did I fuck up?

 _Shit_.

 

**SIMON**

“Sorry,” I say with a nervous chuckle as Baz lifts up on his elbows to look at me. This is so embarrassing.

He pushes himself fully upright but he doesn’t come any closer. “Why are you sorry?”

“I—I don’t… I can’t…” The words won’t come out right; I’m not even sure how to say it. How do I tell my boyfriend that I’m afraid I won’t live up to his past experiences, when I don’t even know what those are?

It’s not even the sex part, not really. I know—or, I _assume_ —he’s done that stuff loads. But what about _this_ stuff? _Boyfriend stuff_. How many boys has he taken on coffee dates? How many have held his hand while they walked together? How many have felt the way I feel about him?

 

**BAZ**

“Simon, it’s okay,” I try to reassure him, though I’m holding back from giving him a hug, since I don’t know that he’d be receptive to that at the moment. “You know I don’t… expect anything, right?”

“Oh, god, yeah,” he says as covers part of his face with one hand. “No, I know, it’s not… I dunno, it’s stupid. I don’t…”

“Whatever it is, it’s not _stupid_ , alright?”

“I lied about my class being cancelled so I could…” He chuckles again and shakes his head before looking at me. “I just wanted to… be with you right now, I guess.”

“You know, there’s other ways you can _be with_ me, right?” I reply, though I soon clarify once I notice the look of slight panic on his face. “Wait, no! Not like that. I just mean, we can spend time together doing all sort of things.”

 

**SIMON**

“Right. Yeah.” I nod in agreement, though I still feel like I’m being a big baby about all of this.

“So, do you want to talk about… anything?” he adds.

His voice and expression are so soft that I just want to curl up against him—but I feel like that would seem weird right now, given my somewhat erratic behaviour. So I just shake my head. I have so many questions, but I’m not sure if I’m ready for the answers yet.

He examines me for a moment before getting down off the bed and heading to his desk—presumably to continue with his revision, since I’m not going to provide much entertainment at the moment. I’m surprised, then, when he closes his laptop and picks it up to bring it back to the bed, climbing up and settling himself right into the corner where the two walls meet at the head of the bed. He adjusts the pillows to act as cushioning for his back and nestles into place.

“Should we just finish the first series of _The Good Place_ , then?” he says, motioning with his head for me to join him in the corner. “If I skip my class, too, we can get it done before dinner.”

I can’t help but smile at that before I crawl towards him.

I have the best boyfriend ever.

 

**BAZ**

I know that neglecting my courses probably isn’t the best idea ever, but one day won’t kill me. Besides, when Simon curls up against me so we can watch together, it definitely feels worth it. I’ve wanted him for weeks, and now I have him right here—and I’m not letting go.

(I can’t believe he thinks he’s bad at hugging. What an idiot.)

I have the best boyfriend ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, wow, pretty much nothing got resolved! What was the point of this whole part of the series? I don't know! But I had fun! See you in 3 years with the next part! (Okay, I hope not--but go on tumblr and poke me until I get it done if you really want to read it soon; I get easily distracted.)
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this story! I'm glad so many seem to enjoy it, because it's a lot of fun for me to write! I appreciate all the likes and comments and everything, thank you!!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I'm going to be super obnoxious and mention that I have a tumblr now for my _Carry On_ shenanigans, [@f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://f-ing-ruthless-baz.tumblr.com), so feel free to befriend me over there because I am so lonely.


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